Vegas Blues: A Thing Called Love
by the morrighan
Summary: Detective John Sheppard finds more questions than answers.
1. Chapter 1

Vegas Blues: A Thing Called Love

_Some days you're better off staying in bed._

Detective John Sheppard nodded as the thought went through his head. He stood over the kitchen counter in his apartment, sipping his second cup of joe. Eyes on the television screen as a reporter gesticulated wildly behind her. The shot panned wide to reveal a suburban neighborhood. Clean houses and meticulous lawns. Paved driveways and clean sidewalks. Except now the entire area was littered. Dozens and dozens if not hundreds of blackbirds lay scattered, turning the ground into a black, feathered carpet. All were dead. Small bodies like some macabre confetti marring the otherwise well-to-do environment.

Clean-up crews were in the background, scooping up the hapless creatures with large shovels. Meanwhile the reporter droned on and on about global warming, a shift in the Earth's axis and magnetic field, pollution or contamination. John flicked the channel. The story was running on every news channel. Each station scrambling to find their own experts, their own theories. Each fighting for eyewitnesses and the usual crackpot who would expound a conspiracy theory of his own involving the government or aliens or secret testing of chemical warfare.

The phone rang. John snatched it off the counter. Lifted it to his ear. "Yeah?"

"Detective Sheppard? This is Carson Beckett," came a melodious Scottish voice. "I've got those results you were wanting. From that sample you gave me?"

"I remember," John noted. He flicked the channel again. A closer view now, of some of the dead birds. Little black beady eyes staring at nothing. There appeared to be no trauma to the avian victims. No marks. No blood. A witness was proclaiming how they had just all fallen out of the sky. As if felled by a single blow. The woman's face was pale, shock in her eyes.

"Come down to my place. I'd rather not discuss this over the phone."

"Okay. On my way." John slid the phone into the back pocket of his dark gray slacks. Pulled on his dark gray jacket over his dark green woven shirt. He'd made an effort this morning. The clothing was less wrinkled than most. He had even shaved, had even combed his hair but it still sprang into its messy disorder. Had no idea why he was being so conscientious about his appearance. Grabbing his shades and his keys he exited his apartment. Locked the door. Checked the badge at his hip. Nodded absently at an elderly woman who was retrieving her paper outside her door.

ANOTHER AFLOCKALYPSE? MORE MASS DEATH IN...

John scowled at the tabloid headline, not bothering to finish reading it. He quickly headed for his car, keys jangling in his hand. It was another hot day. The sun was rising amid a clear yellow sky. Hints of orange glinted over the hills far to the west. The noises of the city assaulted. Traffic jams. People yelling. Horns honking. Commerce non-stop.

Vegas never stopped. And was never silent.

John strolled to the bar. Even at this hour of the morning there were patrons. Sitting at the small tables, nursing their beers and their woes. The dim lighting made John remove his shades. He paused at the bar, smiled at the barmaid who approached. "Beckett?"

"Oh. You." Her smile faded upon recognizing him. Remembering that he was a cop. "In back. He's expecting you." She jerked a thumb towards the back. "You wanna drink?" she asked, as an afterthought.

"Not yet." He made his way to the back. To where more private booths were located. He stopped. A woman was sitting at one. Long brown hair secured into a ponytail that snaked along her lilac shirt. Her rear snug in the faded blue jeans as she leaned over to grab a fallen napkin. John's lips quirked into a smile. "Moira O'Meara."

Moira O'Meara turned, startled. She dropped the napkin again. She stared at the handsome man standing near the booth. "John Sheppard." Her gaze took in his dark clothes. The shirt opened at his throat, revealing a glimpse of his chest. The belt buckle a shiny silver square at his waist.

"What are you doing here?" they asked at the same time. Smiled.

John sat next to her, forcing her to scoot and scoot over until she was practically up against the wall. "Beckett's got results on a sample I gave him. What about you?" His eyes momentarily lowered to her breasts, where a Celtic design was emblazoned on the t-shirt.

"The same. What was yours? Detective?" she reprimanded, but her own gaze was raking along his long, lean form. The opened shirt. Down to his waist where it had come partially untucked, revealing a flash of skin as he moved, getting comfortable.

"Dead body. Possible pathogen." Their eyes met.

"Same here. Not human, though. Yours?"

"Human. From a bird? I saw the news this morning."

"No. Mammalian. We were in the desert cave system and found them. Hundreds of them."

"Found what?"

"Bats."

"Bats?" he questioned, puzzled.

"Good, you're both hear. I can kill two birds with one stone, then. Och, sorry!" Carson Beckett shrugged seeing Moira's look of reprimand. "I saw the news. Another one, eh?"

"Another what?" John asked. Recalled the blaring headline he had read. "You mean this has happened before?"

Carson ignored him as he took the seat across from Moira. "It's all identical, Moy."

"What? How?"

"Pathogen. A single strand that is foreign to everything else."

"Specialized?"

"Across the board."

"Whoa! Full sentences, okay? Does that include mine?" John asked, irritated. He was being ignored as the two scientists seemed to have their own shorthand, like a secret code.

"Yes, detective, it does. That's why I called you."

"Whoa!" Moira echoed. "But his is human! That can't be right, Carson. That's impossible!"

"Apparently not, love. The diseases are different, the causes are different but in each sample that same unknown viral agent is there, and only there. No where else."

"So these die-offs aren't like the other ones! I knew it. The mass die-offs are not natural at all and I've tracked them all across the nation and then Nevada and then specifically in Vegas and if you're saying this unknown pathogen is the common factor in the–"

"Whoa, whoa, hold up!" John said, shaking his head. "What the hell are you talking about? I feel like I walked into the middle of something. Bats, then birds? What else? And how could any of that link to my vic? Well?"

Moira turned to John. "The birds. They are only the latest in a strange series of mysterious die-offs that have been population specific, as well as environmentally specific." At his blank look she continued. "This one is the latest to have happened here. Most of the time the die-offs are naturally occurring, but lately this hasn't been the case. They are far too frequent and I have tracked them geographically, as well as chemically with Carson's help." She pulled a file to her. Opened it. Showed him a map of the world, then the United States. Then Nevada. "You see?"

John was silent. He took the maps, reading her writing on them. Names of animals, birds, fish, even trees and insects. Map by map. Region by region. Except the ones on the Nevada map were written in bold red. As if they differed somehow. And they seemed to follow a trajectory. Straight into the desert outside of Vegas.

"Yes," she said to his unasked question, watching him. The curve of his perfect lips as he considered. Green eyes narrowed in thought. A trace of scruff shadowing his strong jaw. "Most of the time these die-offs occur unreported. But recently there have been sporadic groupings of them. Across the species board. Colony collapse disorder in honeybees. White nose syndrome in bats. Chytridiomycosis in amphibians. Avian flu or magnetic interference in birds. Red tide killing hundred of fish. Sudden aspen decline killing trees across the West. Except for here. The one thing they all have in common, and only have in common here is what Carson found."

"The unknown pathogen," John surmised. Still eying the map. He traced his finger across a line leading from the outskirts of the state to the city of Vegas. "It's following a route?"

"We think so...whatever this unknown bacteria or virus is, yes...but we need to find the point of origin. We need to find what is causing it in the first place. It's unlike any known virus or bacteria I have ever seen," Carson stated. Frowning. "If I was a betting man I'd venture a guess that this chemical isn't even...terrestrial."

John licked his lips. Set down the maps but kept hold of them. Met the doctor's blue gaze. "Well, I am a betting man. And I bet you may be right, doc."


	2. Chapter 2

Vegas Blues: A Thing Called Love2

Moira snorted, shaking her head. Jolted out of her admiring examination of the detective. "Are you suggesting this toxin is, is alien? Like that, that thing?"

John met her gaze. Oddly serious. "Yes, I am. Only thing that makes sense. Right?" He eyed the doctor again. "You can't identify it, can you? Nobody can."

"True...but that doesn't necessarily mean...I was joking, you know. Except..."

"Except? Spit it out, doc."

"Only if you stop calling me doc!" Carson flared. "Except that I found that very toxin in the first sample you gave me, Moira."

"From the bird?" she asked.

"No. From the bone marrow you gave me from those bones. From your excavation. The unknown species."

"The alien," John noted.

"Aye, whatever. What's more...well, I tested what little I had of the sample. Extracted a partial DNA sequence but I fear it's contaminated, because there is no way it could possibly be accurate."

"What did you find?" Moira asked, curious. She glanced at John. He was watching the doctor, expression guarded. Hand still grasping the maps.

"Like I said, it must be contaminated because there is no way on God's green earth something like this could even possibly–"

"Just spit it out, Beckett!" John flared, impatient.

"Fine! It's got human DNA and insect DNA! An insect species that I could not find on any database!"

The three stared at each other. Carson's declaration hanging in the air, the irate Scottish accent filling the words with more import than if he had said them in a quiet voice. John's mind was spinning as images filled his head. Memories of a creature human but not human. The previous victims drained of blood, of fluids, of life. His own catastrophic resurrection. Moira was trying to work out a scientific explanation but the pressure of John's thigh next to hers was distracting.

"So," she said, moving slightly to create a tiny space between them, "you're suggesting that this thing is the possible source of the toxin. Or perhaps something it had with it. We need to go back to find the initial location of contact. Using the map and John. John, you said the excavation site was familiar. Not the first but the second one."

John had been smiling as her small motion. He moved a little, pressing his leg against hers again. "Yeah. But not exactly."

"We need to go back out there. To find the original site. We even know where to begin. Sort of," she admitted. Tapped the map in his hand. "With this and your partial memory."

John nodded. "I can drive us out there, Moira. Beckett," he said, turning to the doctor, "is this in any way contagious?"

"No. It's incubation is very swift. Sudden. Then it's harmless again. I'll keep working on trying to identify it."

"Thanks. Let's go, Moira." John stood. Keeping the maps in his hand he headed out of the booth.

Moira slid across the seat, moving to stand. She looked at her friend. "Thanks, Carson."

"Keep me apprised of any developments, Moy. If you find anything else bring it to me."

"You got it."

"O'Meara!" John barked from the bar.

Moira shook her head, more amused than annoyed. Carson sighed. "And be careful around him, Moy. I don't trust him."

"That makes two of us, doc." She smiled at his playful scowl.

"O'Meara!" John bellowed, turning to glare as she appeared at last. He looked irritated, hands on hips, scowl on his handsome face. Sexy, so sexy in his impatience.

"All right, all right, Sheppard, don't get your panties in a bind, I'm coming!"

John smiled. "Baby, if I had my way not only your panties would be in bindings."

"Don't call me that! Let's go!" She shoved past him, exited the bar. John smirked, following her. "Eyes up, Sheppard!"

"With that pert little ass? Hell no, O'Meara." He smiled at her glare.

They traveled in silence. Moira stared out of the passenger window. Watching the city give way to neighborhoods, to more industrial areas, to more rural areas until all vestiges of human civilization faded away. Leaving only miles and miles of desert baking under the sun. The car was warm. The air conditioner all but useless in the heat. The ride was uncomfortable. Tires bumping along the road hitting every pothole, every crack. She held onto the files perched in her lap. Trying to ignore the man beside her. Trying to ignore the heat as it made her sweat, made her shirt stick to her back.

John was staring ahead as he drove. Hands on the steering wheel. Watching the traffic thin and thin and then fade to nothing. They were the only ones on the road once a tour bus had passed. The asphalt was a shimmering haze as the car rolled over it. The hills a shadow in the distance. The road was dirt now. The car threw up dust as it rolled along. John could feel the sweat trickling. Could feel every bump and grind of the vehicle as it traversed the lonely road. He glanced at Moira. About to make a salacious comment about her sticky shirt when something drew his gaze forward again.

He slowed the car. Stopped it. Staring at the shadowy hills. Staring at the abandoned equipment of the new transformer that was being built. A twinge of deja vu assailed him. It was an uncomfortable feeling. His hands momentarily tightened on the steering wheel. "This is it."

Moira looked over at his quiet voice. Saw his unremitting stare. She touched his shoulder. A soft, reassuring caress that drew his eyes to her. Broke his scattered thoughts, tangled memories. "Okay. Wow!" Moira got out of the car. Shaded her eyes with her hand and moved towards a large expanse in the dirt. A crater.

John quickly followed. Joined her to stand and stare at the deep depression in the ground. "An explosion. Surgical strike from the air," he explained, donning his shades. He glanced up as if expecting to see the fighter jets in the air. Saw only the pale, pale sky. Bleached by the sun. Looked past the crater. Recalled staggering away from his car. Bleeding. Falling to the ground. The sun blinding, baking him. He eyed the crater. "One target. Close radius. Minimal damage but total obliteration. Missiles."

"How can you tell all that?" Moira asked, staring at him.

"I was Air Force. In another life. Pilot. Did that sort of thing. This way." He began to skirt round the deep crater. Boots leaving dull impressions on the dirt. She followed. "High impact. Obliterated everything in its path but the debris field could extend for miles." He stopped.

Moira stopped, caught his arm a moment. They peered into the depression. "That's radioactive?" she asked.

"Hope not. I was thinking of having kids one day," John jested. "You?"

"Huh? No. Never. Is any of this familiar to you, John?" she asked, meeting his gaze.

He was staring at her. The answer unexpected. He looked round. "Maybe. Those hills." He pointed. "There." He took her hand, startling her. Led her round the crater and away from it.

"Wait!" She freed her hand, knelt in the dirt. "Bone fragment. Could be anything." She pulled a plastic bag from her pocket. Carefully deposited the bone into it.

"Do you always have one of those with you?" he asked.

"Yes. Several." She stood. They resumed strolling. "I'll need some soil samples. Listen."

"I am."

"No. Listen!"

They stood. It was silent. Utterly still. Not a hint of a breeze. The hot sun beat down upon them. Waves like a blanket stifling, enfolding them. John wished he had left his jacket in the car. Envied Moira her lightweight, short-sleeved t-shirt. "Well?" he asked.

"The quiet. There's nothing out here."

"I can see that."

"No! There's nothing out here," she repeated. "Nothing but us. Not even a bug."

"Good. I hate bugs. What is it now?" he asked, sounding petulant as she abruptly headed away from him. Squatted.

"Samples. I told you." She scooped some dirt carefully into yet another bag, using a nearby twig from a dead plant. Took a deeper sample, digging into the hard earth as best she could. Filling another little bag. She leaned, searching the ground. There was nothing but baked clay and dead plants. Not even an ant. Not even a fly. The silence was absolute. Eerie. A long shadow fell across her.

"Blue today," John commented quietly. Gaze glued to her back, her rear as the jeans gaped. Giving him a glimpse of blue lace. Skimpy. He was picturing a sexy thong, leaving her cheeks bare in those jeans. His body reacted

"What?" she asked, straightening. Stood. Flushing as she pulled up her jeans, realizing.

John just smiled.


	3. Chapter 3

Vegas Blues: A Thing Called Love3

Moira was at a loss for words. Embarrassed and annoyed that he had been eying her, eying her underwear in particular. But also allured by his interest, his amusement. She was about to say something cutting when his smile faded as he looked round. "John?" She began to walk away from him. "I'll have to get these samples back to the lab for analysis and then to Carson. If something large was obliterated here then you're right, the debris field could extend for miles. And the source of the contagion could be anything, anywhere. What was the target, John? Can you remember?"

She stopped talking, realizing she was alone. She turned to see John was still standing there. Hands at his sides. Staring at the distance. Utterly still, as if trapped in a memory. Like a bee trapped in amber. The sun's lowering gaze casting him in yellowish hues. Casting his long, lean shadow across the desert. Elongating. Turning his clothes into hues of murky purple. Making him mysterious. Dangerous. Provocative. She returned to him. "John?"

He lies on the desert. The sun beats down on him. Merciless. But not as hotly as the explosion that ripped the silver bullet trailer into pieces. Obliterated it and everything in the immediate vicinity. Stabbed a deep hole into the earth. He can feel the fire now, as he lays sprawled on the ground. He can feel the life bleeding out of him. It hurts. The bullets are still in him, tearing flesh and muscle. He can feel his life seeping onto the hard desert sand.

John jerked out of the memory. Met her gaze, startled. Saw concern, curiosity in her brown eyes. "This is the place." He swallowed. Throat dry, closing with emotion. He swallowed again. "Where it happened." His voice was low. Intense.

"Where what happened?" she gently asked. She touched his arm.

He looked at the landscape. Then to her. "This is where I, where I died."

Moira stated. At a loss. What do you say after such a declaration? She swallowed. "Well, it didn't take, obviously."

His lips quirked. "Obviously," he agreed. But that darker memory, that dark memory of being brought back inserted itself.

"What do you mean, you died here? You remember that?" she asked.

John squatted. Touched the ground. It was hard. Rough under his fingers. Unyielding. "Yeah. Just that. Being shot. Repeatedly. By that, that thing. That thing that looked like a man but wasn't a man. I remember staring up into its eyes. It stood over me. It lowered the gun. Raised it's hand to...to...but it just left me. Left me to die there, I guess. And I did. Next thing I know I'm in a hospital in Reno."

"Someone found you."

"McKay. It had to be McKay. He said he brought me back, remember? There was a tracking device on my car," he suddenly remembered. He rubbed his temple. A headache was forming. "Moira, that thing...that creature, whatever the hell it was...it's not of this world. And there's other stuff. There's another one." He moved to his feet.

Moira was still staring at him. Not feeling the heat of the sun as his revelations were startling. Amazing. Impossible. "Another one? You mean a specimen?"

"No. A living one." He touched her arm, taking hold gently. Calloused fingers caressing her bare skin. "I'm starting to remember things now. But it's hazy. Like pieces of a puzzle. You think this thing brought some sort of alien pathogen into our environment causing the spreading die-offs across multiple species?"

Moira blinked. Nodded. "It's possible, I guess. The only link is that one toxin, and Carson can't identify it. And he's the best. This," she indicated the crater beyond them, "could be part of the source. Spreading the toxin when that explosion occurred. Spreading it out for miles. An alien pathogen that could wreak havoc on the environment, on living species."

"But why not us? Except for that one guy. Hayes. And Marcus." John snapped his fingers. "Because they both came into contact with the source, well, with something containing the pathogen. The black box that McKay wants me to find. There's a mold or fungus or virus growing on the damn thing. An organic substance alien to Earth."

"Unless some people have a natural immunity," she mused. "A black box?"

"Yeah, that other thing..." He recalled the device he had given McKay. A life signs detector. Responding to his touch. To a certain gene, McKay had said. That not everyone had. He frowned, trying to recall more. Saw she was staring at him, mystified. "A black box," he confirmed. "I've got a picture of it. Could that be the source?"

Moira shrugged. Trying to follow his leaps in thought. Words becoming more outrageous, more convoluted. "Maybe. I don't know." His fingers were drumming along her bare skin as he thought. Creating a friction, a sensual shiver that slithered along her skin. "I've got to get this back to the lab. John? John?"

"Yeah, okay." He looked round once more, seeming to come out of a daze, a trance. His fingers stilled on her arm but he drew her closer to him. Gaze locking with hers. "It tried to blend in, you know. Almost did, too. Especially in this town."

"Okay, John. Let's just get back to the lab, shall we?" she said gently.

"You don't believe me, do you?" he accused. Frowning. "Look, I know it sounds crazy, like some bizarre sci-fi show but it's true. You can't deny the facts, Moira. You're a scientist."

"Let's get back to the lab, John." She gently freed her arm. Began to head for the crater. "Can you remember what these things are called?" she asked, deciding to humor him.

"No. Not yet. You don't believe me, do you?" he repeated. Disappointed.

"I don't know what to believe, John. You have to admit the whole thing sounds...fantastical. Like a sci-fi show, as you said. But I can't deny that this toxin is unidentified. That those bones were from an unknown species. That something is going on here that can't be explained. Yet. If what you say is true what are those guys trying to cover up? The whole operation? The fact that there could be actual aliens among us?"

"Maybe. Fruitcake testimonials are one thing. Hard evidence is another."

"If there is a contagion of a foreign substance we have to oof!" Her sentence evolved into an explosion of air as John swung out his arm, knocking her backwards. He dove with her, rolled them behind the ridge of the crater. Dirt flew to either side of them.

"What?" she squeaked, finding herself pinned underneath him.

"Company," he informed into her ear. Moved along her to peer over the ridge. People in hazmat suits were exploring, surveying the area. Looking like astronauts on an alien planet. Feeling her pushing at him he smiled. Liking the feel of her softness, her curves under him. He shifted, a very blatant motion of his hips against hers. Of his body aligning to hers as if they were going to engage in sexual activity. Until he moved off her, peering at the intruders across the crater.

Moira hit his arm, moving to peer next to him. Angry, but keeping silent. Although the feel of his hard, lean body had been quite, quite pleasant. Even arousing the way he had moved on her, against her. "Bastard," she muttered. "Looks like they beat us to it," she whispered. "Crap. Now what? They'll confiscate our samples again."

"They have to find us first. This way. Stay close." He led her in a crouch, slowly circling the crater in the opposite direction.

Moira was smirking, watching the pants as they framed his firm rear. As his jacket and shirt lifted to flash some skin. "They will have seen your car, John. They'll know we're here."

"But not that we're out this way, Moira. Keep quiet and keep on my six."

"On your what?" Nevertheless she followed after him. He held up a hand in a closed fist. Stopped. She stopped as well, shrugging at his gesture. About to ask but thinking better of it as he suddenly drew his gun. She touched the samples in the plastic bag in her pocket.

John peered round the piles of dirt. Spotted his car in the distance. Nearby a host of white vans were parked. The team was spread out all along the crater now. Taking measurements, using all sorts of instruments. He wondered who had tipped them off, if he had been followed. He gestured, began to move again. Moira followed, trying not to be distracted by his lithe, lean movements. By the way he was leaning, crouching. His jacket lifting, his shirt lifting. His pants dipping low, so low she got an eyeful of flesh, of the top of that firm, firm rear that was seemingly bare as so far not a hint of underwear had yet to show or obscure the sight of what appeared to be the finest example of a...

"Whoa." John muttered as she collided with him. He looked over his shoulder, straightening as she stumbled back from him. Saw her amusement, embarrassment. Brown eyes shining, her rosy lips pursed over a laugh, an apology. Her sheepish smile. He flashed a smile at her. "Eyes up, O'Meara. A quick dash to the car and we're outta here. Okay?"

"Okay, Sheppard. On three?"

"Make it two. And Moira, try to keep your eyes on the target, okay?"

"I thought I was, but okay, John."

John shook his head. "In that case make it one."


	4. Chapter 4

Vegas Blues: A Thing Called Love4

John smiled. Enjoying the flirtation even at this most inappropriate time. "Go!" He grabbed her hand, pulled her into a run. They veered around the white vans. Heard shouts. Suddenly bullets pinged the vehicles, narrowly missing them.

"They're shooting at us!" Moira announced, astonished.

"Yeah, I kinda noticed! Move that pert little six now!" John ordered.

"My what?" But she swerved with him, skidding along the dirt and dust as they sought cover behind one of the vans. Then sprinted to the red car. John whirled, returning fire. Then dove into the driver's seat as she got into the passenger one. He thrust the car into gear. Its wheels spun on the dirt, got purchase, screeched. Sped away from the scene. Moira turned to look behind them. "I don't think they're following us!" she gasped, out of breath from the wild run.

"Good. Lab, then?" John asked. Voice calm. As if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

She looked at him. "Yes. They'll know where we're going."

"Then we'll have to be quick about it."

"John, what the hell is going on?"

"I don't know. Don't you worry, baby, I've got you covered."

She sighed, annoyed. Looked back behind them again. "They were shooting at us, John! Shouldn't you have arrested them or something?"

"Not yet. We were a little busy at the time," he noted. Glanced at her. "You okay?"

"Oh, sure, just peachy. Maybe you're used to being shot at but I'm not!"

He smiled. "It gets easier."

"Funny. Just get me to the damn lab, all right?"

"Fine."

Moira touched his arm as he parked the car in front of the lab. "No."

"Excuse me?" he asked, not understanding.

"This analysis will take an hour, if not more. You don't need to be here."

He met her gaze. "Oh, I think I do need to be here, Moira. Those science guys might show up."

"Science guys? Whatever they were, John, they certainly weren't scientists! Besides, we have upped the security here considerably. I'll be perfectly safe here. Look, you hanging over me won't make the analysis go any faster. You can't rush science."

"I can. Let's go, Moira."

She sighed. Got out of the car as he did. She shook her head. "I need to get a sample to Carson. Can you do that for me, at least?"

"What? I'm your errand boy now, doctor?"

"Yes, detective. Go."

"Once you're done here."

"I don't need a–"

"Bodyguard? Look, we can stand here in the blazing heat and argue or you could get that pert little ass to work and already be done. So?"

She glared, whirled and entered the lab. John followed, smirking. The building was cool, quiet. John's footsteps echoed as he followed her down hallways, into and out of elevators. Watched her input codes to gain access to each section. Finally they entered a lab. He milled about, looking at specimens encased in glass. A prehistoric skull caught his eye and he examined it. Recognized it as a sabertooth tiger skull. The teeth reminding him of the one still in his possession.

He looked over at Moira. She had on a white lab coat. Latex gloves as she emptied the bags of dirt into a machine that would separate the fine grains and grit from rocks and weeds and whatever else had been buried in that rubble. Motions brisk, professional. But John's mind turned to more sexual scenarios until his pants started to feel tight and he had to turn away, look back at the skull.

"Smilodon. From the Pleistocene. In case you were wondering."

John looked at her. She was still facing away from him, working. Adjusting the machine. "I wasn't," he drawled.

"I told you, detective, it will be an hour if not more." She turned to him at last. Stepped to him, expression serious. "Now be a good boy and run along, would you? I can run a full spectrum analysis here and then take a sample to Carson so he can run a test for the specific pathogen."

John scowled. "And let me guess, that will take an hour? Why does science always take an hour?" At her silence, her stare he sighed. "Fine, doctor. But if those guys come calling don't say I didn't warn you. And call me."

"All right, all right. Go. Shoo!" She all but pushed him out of the lab. Hands on his arms, his back as she guided him across the threshold.

"Why do I get the feeling you are trying to get rid of me?" he asked, turning to her.

"Because I am! You're far too distracting! Now go! I have things to do and quite frankly you'll just be in the way!"

John blinked. He had had plenty of women pulling him into a room. This was the first one to push him out of one. But there seemed to be something else going on. As if she was trying to hide something from him. Something she didn't want him to see. Which of course made him determined to see it. "Call me if anything hinky occurs. Call me in an hour. Okay?"

"Okay, detective. Go." She took hold of the door handle and began to close it.

"Going, doctor. And don't forget to call me!"

The sorter made a weird grinding sound, then stopped. A red light flashed. Moira quickly moved to it. "What now?" she wondered. She opened the bottom draw, carefully extracted the fine tooth tray that was separating the dirt and rocks and weeds and anything else to purify the samples. To her surprise silver glinted. She carefully unwound a silver chain. Amazed it was still intact and hadn't been broken by the machine. At the end of the chain hung a small silver cross. Stunned it hadn't been pulverized along with the assorted rocks and grit and trash.

She held it up in the light. Washed it off and held it up again to shine in the lab lights. The cross spun slowly, round and round. Wondering how it had gotten out there in the middle of nowhere. Wondering to whom it belonged. How long it had been buried in the dirt, forgotten. Lost. She slipped it into her lab coat pocket, a suspicion forming but quickly rejected. She restored the tray and set the machine to work once more.

Moira removed her lab coat, the latex gloves. She checked the computer as it was already receiving data from the sorter. The two machines working in harmony. But it would still take time for even a preliminary finding. Which would lead to hours of work ahead of her.

She thought about the detective for a moment. His concern. His stubbornness. His sarcasm. The way his arm had felt around her waist, drawing her close. The warmth of his body next to hers as their sides brushed. She pushed the amorous memories aside.

Grabbing her purse off the counter she viewed the machine. It was busily sorting. Nothing else was clogging the gears. She left the lab, knew she had about an hour before any results would arise. An hour was all that she needed. Actually less.

John sat in his car across the street from the lab. The nondescript building was fairly busy today, which reassured him. People coming and going. Being checked by security. Men in white coats. Women in business suits. Nevertheless he kept an eye on things. Wished he could keep an eye on Moira as she worked. Her suspicious behavior raised the detective in him. Among other things, he noted wryly. And suddenly there she was, exiting the building. Looking harried, a bag slung over one shoulder. She moved down the street and stood, boarded a bus.

John scowled, curious. He started his car, following the bus. Slowing as each stop along the way in case she exited. After five she finally emerged. John parked his car, watching as she moved briskly down the street. Entered a store. John eyed the small building huddled amid a strip mall. Various businesses, a small grocery store, a Chinese restaurant. He eyed the sign.

Atlantis Gems and Jewelry.


	5. Chapter 5

Vegas Blues: A Thing Called Love5

John's fingers were tapping, tapping on the steering wheel. His gaze wandering up and down the street, but always returning to the jewelry store. Waiting. Wondering what she was doing. Wondering what could be so secretive about going to a jewelry store. Angry she hadn't let him drive her here. As if she didn't quite trust him.

Seeing her exit at last he drove along the street, still across from her. Stared. She had a forlorn, distraught expression on her face. Almost guilt, as she stood a moment outside the store. He swerved, did a U-turn, ignored the honking and the rude epithets directed at him. Pulled up alongside her as she started to walk. He leaned, rolling down the window. "Moira?"

Moira's grim thoughts had been scattered by the noise of angry cars, angry drivers. The sound of John's voice, the sight of the familiar dirty red car. "John?" She stopped, startled. As if she had been caught committing a crime, or doing something she shouldn't have been doing.

John stopped the car. The utter despair and sorrow in her brown eyes pulled at him. Pulled him in an emotional way, not a sexual one which surprised him. He could almost feel a physical tugging. "What's wrong, sweetheart? Get in."

Moira was startled by the endearment. Expected sarcasm but she heard none. His voice was quiet, gentle even. Concern in his green eyes. But she glared. "What? Are you following me now, detective?"

"Get in," he repeated. Horns were blaring behind him but he didn't care.

She quickly opened the door, slid into the passenger seat. Purse clutched on her lap as he pulled away from the curb.

"So...what happened? Atlantis Gems and Jewelry. You buying something?"

"No. Selling."

"Ah. Maybe you should have gone to a pawn shop."

She glanced at him. He was staring ahead. There was no opprobrious look, no judgment. "No. Jewelry stores give you a better price," she explained. Stomach twisting.

"You've done this before," he surmised.

She nodded. Realized he couldn't see it as he was focused on driving. "Yes. I, I've had to sell jewelry before, to make ends meet. Pay bills. Other, other stuff."

"There's no shame in it, Moira," he soothed, glancing at her. "We've all been there. You wouldn't believe what I've done to settle some debts. You do what you have to do in order to survive. Especially in this town."

"I, I guess. It's just..." She hesitated. It was refreshing to talk to someone who didn't pass judgment, or think less of you. Who actually understood.

"Whatever you sold was special. Held some meaning. You didn't want to do it."

"Yes. I didn't have a, a choice." She blinked back a few tears. Hoping John hadn't seen.

But he had. He saw the quick motion of her hand to her eyes. She sounded fragile, vulnerable. He wanted to help, but he didn't know how. His bank account wasn't exactly swimming with funds. He felt a surge of concern, wanting to protect her, console her. "Wanna talk about it?" he asked, offering the only thing he had.

"No." She regained her composure. "What's done is done. I just need to deposit this into the bank. If you, if you don't mind."

"Not at all. Direct me."

"Just here." She pointed.

He pulled into the lot. Parked. "I'll wait for you."

"No, John, that won't be necessary. You can go. You don't have to wait."

He turned to her. "I don't mind. I need to talk to you anyway, all right?"

She smiled. "Are you my chauffeur now?"

"Yes. Go. I'll be waiting."

"Okay. It shouldn't take long. If you're sure. Five minutes, tops."

"No problem. I'll be here."

She hesitated. Frowned. Leaned close and quickly, quickly kissed his cheek. "Thank you." She exited and all but ran into the bank. John sat back, smiling. Pleased with himself.

Ten minutes later Moira ran to his car, slid into the passenger seat. "Sorry! There was a line!" She bit her lower lip in consternation but he appeared indifferent. Untroubled.

He looked up from his phone. He had been checking his messages. Slid it back into his pocket. "No problem, Moira. Where to now?"

"The lab, I guess. You probably wanted to talk about the case, right? The prelim results should be available by now and we can get a more detailed analysis of the–

"Or we could grab a bite to eat and you could talk to me about it. You know, Moira, you can tell me anything. Nothing would upset or surprise me. Or make me ever think less of you."

She stared. Swallowed. "I..." She didn't know what to say. "Yeah, right," she said, resorting to sarcasm. Finding refuge in disbelief.

"I'm serious, Moira." He looked it too. Green eyes solemn. Handsome face holding gravity. He half turned towards her in the seat. He touched her hand as it still clasped the purse. A subtle caress of his fingers on hers.

"Why do you care anyway? Why are you so curious? Because you are a detective? No crime was committed. It's all legal and aboveboard. You can't stop being a detective, is that it?"

"No, because I..." His words fell away as an unaccountable reluctance seized him. Emotions slipping to the surface. His hand sliding over hers. Tightening on hers, as if that was explanation enough. Better than words. More than words.

Moira shook her head. Slid her hand out of his, away from his. "No. Take me back to the lab, please. I can work on the results and I will call you when they are complete. Please, John." She needed the science. The refuge of science. Of cold, hard facts that contained no emotion, no conflicts, nothing messy like feelings.

"Fine." John started the car. Not sure if he was angry or disappointed. He drove in silence. Mood souring. Blaming himself, blaming Moira. He didn't look at her. Kept his eyes on the road. Weaving through traffic as if he couldn't wait to drop her off and be away from her.

Moira couldn't keep her eyes off him. The moody insouciance of his expression, as if nothing mattered, that nothing had almost happened. The pout of his full, perfect lips. His eyes hidden behind sunglasses now. Hands on the wheel. She recalled the touch of his fingers on hers and felt a mournful echo of that caress. "John..."

"Here. We're here." He looked at her. "Call me when you have those results. I need them ASAP. And tell Carson the same."

She nodded. Got out of the car. Hearing his tone of dismissal, his anger. "I will. John..."

"See ya, Moira." He drove away from her.

She stood, watching the red car peel out of the parking lot, down the street.

John sat at his desk, filling out reports. The case was closed. Just like all of the others. But he knew it wasn't. It was growing on him, this conviction that something was wrong, off, incomplete. He was chasing dead ends but there was something going on beneath the surface. He just couldn't see it. Yet.

He reached into his pocket. Gave the sabertooth a stroke. He really should have given it to Moira, he knew. Her being a paleontologist and all. He smiled softly, thinking of her. The flirtation, the awkwardness. Her vulnerability. He knew he wanted to get into her pants but he was surprised at how disappointed he had been she had refused his offer of lunch. At how much he has just wanted to talk to her about more personal issues.

"Wow. Those must be some good thoughts you are thinking. You almost smiled."

John scowled. "What do you want, captain?"

Hendricks replied, "Shootout. Shots fired at a dive called Beckett's. One casualty and–"

He barely had time to finish his sentence as John was leaping out of his chair and flying out of the office.

Fingers on his phone as he hoped against hope something horrible hadn't happened.


	6. Chapter 6

Vegas Blues: A Thing Called Love6

"Come on! Come on, damn it, pick up!" John was speeding through the city. Phone pressed to his ear, pressed to his shoulder as he kept hearing voice mail. "Damn it!" His wheels spun as he swerved, parked near the bar. Flashing lights of red and blue bathed the tavern in a ghastly light show that never meant anything good. A line of gawking people were being held back by a few policemen. There was an ambulance as well.

John flashed his badge, moved past the cops and the medics and spooked patrons. Sunlight gave way to welcome darkness as he entered the confines of the bar. There was a body on the floor, amid the scattered tables and chairs. Blood was a crimson stream along the floor. The barmaid was hysterical, crying and stuttering to a cop who was trying to take her statement. Trying to ignore her heaving bosom and short, short skirt.

Seeing Moira standing off to one side John felt a tightness in his gut relax. Moira, shaken and alarmed but alive. Unharmed. He moved to her swiftly. Caught her elbow. "Moira. You okay?"

She glanced at him. "John? John...it's Carson."

He glanced to see it was the doctor on the floor. Medics working to save his life. He looked back at her. "And you're okay?" His gaze traveled over her. There was spots of blood on her shirt but it wasn't hers, he assured himself.

"John." For a moment she almost moved into his arms, needing his strength, his security, but she shook her head. "I'm fine. It happened so, so fast! I heard angry voices. There was a man arguing with Carson and when I came out from the back a gun went off and Carson, Carson fell and the blood, the blood..."

"Okay, easy now. What man?"

"A bald man, his shirt, his shirt had a logo...across the chest," she drew a slightly shaking hand across her chest, "Pegasus something or other, I don't know and then he just left."

"Pegasus Deliveries," John realized. Inwardly swore.

"John!" She caught his arm. Brown eyes wide. "It must be the same people who were shooting at us out there! But why? Why do this to Carson?" She looked back at the prone doctor.

"That's a very good question."

John turned slightly, keeping hold of Moira. His gaze narrowed. "You. I should have guessed! First you take pot shots as us in the desert and now this?"

"It wasn't us," Rodney McKay assured. "You have to believe me."

"Really? Then it was Woolsey. And don't tell me that Caldwell isn't on your payroll because I know he is." Moira's hold tightened on his arm and he looked past Rodney to see Carson being loaded onto a gurney. Medics still working on him, muttering in low tones.

"I didn't sanction any of this, I assure you. We need your help. We need all of you." Rodney's gaze encompassed Moira.

John frowned. "Hell no. You don't involve her in any of this. In any of this!"

"It's too late for that, John. Moira," Rodney addressed her at last, "can you continue the work that Carson was doing? His analysis of the specific toxin?"

"What?" Her gaze had been glued to the departing form of her friend as he was wheeled out of the bar. She looked at Rodney. "I...I don't know. I'm no doctor."

"But you are a biologist."

She frowned. "Oh sure, no problem! I'll just ignore the fact that my friend could be dying and finish his work for your secret government agency that apparently has a rogue element that wants us all dead!" She paused. Suddenly felt John's arm sliding around her waist, drawing her close, drawing her into safety. It was a good feeling. A warm feeling.

"He's stable. He'll be fine," Rodney assured. "Please, Moira, we need–"

"Don't care! Use your own damn scientists! I'm going to the hospital!" She gently extricated herself from John's arm. Turned to him. Voice softening, expression calmer. "I can give you my full statement there, but I have to be with him. All right?"

"Go."

Rodney sighed as she quickly left them. Made her way through the maze of policemen and patrons. "Talk to her, John. We need her."

"Me? She won't listen to me. Moira's right. Use your own damn scientists."

"She will listen to you," Rodney reiterated. Met John's irate gaze. "I'm sorry, John. I didn't realize that Woolsey would go to such extremes. Truly. I don't want any of you hurt, or worse. I don't think Dick does either. I'm sure he was just trying to warn you off."

"Really? With bullets? Can it, Rodney! I know a coverup when I see it. More to the point I know a cleanup operation when I see it. Where is he? Come on, where the hell is Caldwell, because we both know he did it. And if he's gone off the rails and decided to further Woolsey's agenda into this he needs to be off the street and behind bars. So, where?"

Rodney ran a hand through his thinning hair. Knew John was right. "Probably at a dive called Brady's. On the other side of town."

John nodded. "I know it. You just be damn sure to keep your guys in line, because if anything, and I mean anything happens to Moira there will be no place on Earth where you can hide where I won't be able to find you."

John slammed his hand onto the bar's counter. Rattling drinks and patrons. "I said no games! Get lost! Or do you want me to look into that back room?" he snarled. Flashed his badge yet again. Exuding authority and threat all at once. The gun at his hip didn't hurt either.

Patrons scrambled out of the bar, leaving their drinks in their rush. It was a sleazy establishment, even by John's standards. Low lighting next to no lighting. Slutty women sliding along dirty poles. The smell of smoke and other intoxicants hanging on the air, visible amid the dust and grime. The floor felt sticky under his boots. Compared to this place Beckett's looked like a five-star restaurant. Steven glowered as he sat at the end of the bar. Sipping a beer. "What the hell is this, detective?"

"I think you already know. Get up!" John walked over to him. "Assume the position!"

Steven smiled, moved to his feet. Spread his legs, arms. "Just so you know, detective, I don't swing that way."

John ignored the joke. Frisked him. Steven had no weapons on him. No gun. Not even a knife. He yanked the other man's arms behind his back. Cuffed him. "You're under arrest."

"Am I? Again?" He sounded amused.

John spun him round to face him. "What is it with you? Leaving the Air Force to work for some secret government agency wasn't enough for you? Now you've got to take pot shots at me and other civilians? You almost killed a civilian today!"

"Don't you dare lecture me about killing civilians, detective! Or about leaving the Air Force, major! My orders were to scare all of you off and I did. Beckett wouldn't back down."

"Is that a confession? 'Cause I really don't need one as I have an eyewitness."

"Ah. That science geek? Like anyone would listen to her, let alone believe her and–" John decked him. A fist to the jaw. Steven spun on his heels with the blow but didn't fall. Turned back to John with a smile. "Hit a nerve, did I, Sheppard? What, you got the hots for that chick? Really not your type, is she? Although at least you wouldn't have to pay up front."

John decked him again. This time Steven fell with the blow. Staggered to his knees. Spit out blood as his lip was cut. "That's for resisting arrest. And for assaulting a police officer."

"I'll be out in five, Sheppard. We both know it. As far as I'm concerned they should have just let you die out there. But McKay insisted you would be useful, and Woolsey was stupid enough to agree. Until you brought more people into the fold. Herding them like sheep so what was I supposed to do but initiate counter measures?"

"Such a good little soldier, aren't you? Let's go!" John hauled him to his feet. "I've got you now, Caldwell! And no fancy lawyer is going to get you out of this one!"

"We'll see about that, Sheppard."

John hauled him out of the bar. "Oh, we'll see, Caldwell. Hope you like your new accommodations because you're going to be in them for a long, long while."

John's surge of satisfaction proved to be short-lived.


	7. Chapter 7

Vegas Blues: A Thing Called Love7

John was swearing profusely. He slammed a report onto the desk. Papers flew in every direction. "That is bullshit! Complete and utter bullshit!" He fingered his badge, tempted to toss it onto the table. To quit. Like he had once before, although he couldn't quite remember the circumstances. Only taking down and then retrieving the Johnny Cash poster.

Hendricks shrugged. Sympathetic. "I know, I agree, John, but our hands are tied. He's got a string of witnesses who can say it was an accident. The gun went off in a heated argument. He's got a lawyer who is threatening you with assault and battery and forcing a confession under duress. He's got some higher ups who want to erase the whole thing and sweep it under the carpet. Case closed."

"What about my witness?"

"What witness? You don't have one."

John stared. Anger chilling. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"She recanted. Drew back her statement so it's over, John. This thing you're pursuing. Stop it. This case you are trying to build. End it. There's nothing there. It's way above our paygrade."

"What do you mean she recanted?"

"Just what I said. Leave it be, Sheppard. We've got plenty of other crimes to solve."

Moira stood in the hospital room, looking down at Carson. He was pale. Hooked up to a number of tubes and machines but he was alive. Stable. Eyes closed as he slept. She touched his hand. His skin felt cold to the touch.

"Don't worry. He'll get the best care, I promise."

She looked over at the man who had spoken. He appeared sincere. Worried. "I almost believe you."

Rodney stepped to her. "You can believe me. I didn't want any of this to happen. I'm so sorry."

"Sure you are." She looked back at Carson.

He tried another approach. "I've had all of Carson's research sent to your lab. You can finish his work. Corroborate all the traces of the toxin and narrow down the chemical analysis. You've done all the groundwork. We can find the source of origin and eliminate this thing before it infects anything else. Or anyone. I've left an address where you forward your findings once you're done. Again, I am so sorry it came to this. I would never have let it happen."

Moira was silent. He sounded sincere, but she didn't trust him. Waited until she heard the quiet footsteps as he departed. She frowned. Hand still on Carson's.

"I'm afraid you have to leave now."

At the nurse's voice Moira turned. Nodded. She exited the room. The heat hit her as she left the air-conditioned building. The sun was lower in the sky. Casting ominous shadows along the buildings, plunging the street into darkness. She walked along the street, lost in her thoughts until a car pulled alongside her.

"Hey," John said, slowing to keep pace with her. "Wanna lift?"

"No thanks. I'm going to grab a bite to eat and then I have to get to work," she explained, not looking at him.

"Me too. Come on, Moira. I need to talk to you. About the case. And I want a bite. To eat." He stopped the car.

She kept walking, irritated. Worried. Stopped. Looked back. He was parked at the curb, waiting. Had pushed open the passenger side door, expectant. Moira sighed. Stepped to the vehicle and got in. Slammed the car door shut. "You're pissed."

"Damn right I am," he agreed, pulling into traffic. "How's Beckett?"

"Better. It was a near thing but he pulled through it. And don't even try to interrogate him. He's not even fully conscious yet and he can't give you a statement."

"Doesn't matter. Case is closed. I arrested the guy who did it. But he got off. So what happened? You recanted your statement. Why?"

She looked out the window. "I...I didn't have a choice."

"Why? Were you threatened? Moira, you've got to tell me."

"No. I mean I wasn't threatened. They...they wanted my cooperation. The price for that cooperation is Carson. To make sure he gets the best care available. I'm sorry, John, but I had no choice. They don't run hospitals on charity, you know."

"I know."

"Couldn't you make a case without my testimony?"

"Yeah, I could have. The jerk practically confessed to me. But he's got friends in high places, Moira. Fancy lawyers and the military trying to cover up whatever the hell this all is. So..."

"So? You can't make a case from that? What kind of detective are you?" she flared. Angry. Guilty.

"The hungry kind. Let's go."

"Huh? Oh." Moira stared at the restaurant, the street as they exited the car. It was a nice neighborhood. A nice restaurant as they entered. Nicer than she'd expected. Not that they were dressed up or on a date or anything, but still it was a step above a burger joint or a pizza parlor. She self-consciously wiped at her blood-stained t-shirt, not having had any time to change.

They were seated at a quiet table near the back. Ordered and said nothing as their drinks were served. She sipped her Coke, smiled as John was sipping his, looking round the room as if gauging the occupations of every diner there. He set down his glass, seeing the spark of amusement in her eyes. "What?" he asked.

She smiled. "Nothing. It's just this is the first time I've seen you drink something other than alcohol. Except that glass of water."

"Funny. I do drink other stuff...from time to time. Look, Moira., I'm not pissed at you. Not really. I don't blame you for what you did, what you felt you were forced to do. For Carson. It's this whole situation. It just smells bad."

She nodded. About to speak but the food had arrived. They ate, both ravenous. Concentrating on eating, drinking. Not even bothering with small talk at the moment yet very aware of each other. The low hum of conversations surrounded them. The air-conditioner running as the sun slowly set. Casting long purple shadows through the window and across the diners. The clink and clang of the slot machines in the foyer a constant background noise.

Moira finished first. Sipped her Coke, sat back. "You said you wanted to talk. Was that it?"

John licked his lips. Moira forgot what she was going to say, realized she was staring and glanced at the table. John smiled. Finished his meal. Sipped his Coke. Assessing. "No. First I wanted to eat. You're going to help them. Who talked to you?"

"McKay," she answered. "It's what they want, for helping Carson. And to recant my, my statement." Her eyes were on the table. She ran her finger along the fine grained wood. "He said it was that other guy. Woolsey. McKay seemed sincere."

"I think he is. Sincere. I don't like this, but I can't let it go. Despite the fact that the closer we get the more danger we seem to be facing. I, for one, would like to know why. What's so damn important that it has to be kept a secret."

"You already know, John. If even half of it is true," she argued. Meeting his studious gaze. "Space aliens. Alien technology. Alien toxins. If you would only remember that would be quite helpful."

"Yes, it would," he agreed. "But until then we need to–"

"No. Does it really matter, John? What they are hiding?"

"Maybe. Maybe not."

"You said they had another one. Another creature."

"Yeah. I think. A living one. From what I can remember."

"Then they could enlist its help with all of this. Test it for the toxin, I guess. But they would have already done that, so the toxin isn't in the creature itself. It must be from something else. Something that was torn apart by that explosion. Maybe that box you are supposed to find."

"There was something growing on it. A fungus or mold, I don't know. When the, the trailer exploded everything in it would have been airborne. Spread for miles. Including that box or whatever the hell was growing on it. A bio-toxin that has a short incubation life and is deadly. But not contagious after the initial infection. But how can it cross the species line?"

Moira was stirring her straw in the glass, round and round and round. The ice gently clinked. She was watching him, impressed. "If the toxin is truly alien it could have a different affect on each species. The same deadly affect but it must alter different cells to make them deadly. To produce a virus or a bacteria against which their immune systems have no defense. Do you think it came here...in a...in a spaceship?"

John had to lean forward as Moira's voice has sunk to a whisper. "Probably. How else? McKay said something...about a time and space rift opening from a different galaxy. I think."

"Sounds like science fiction to me."

"Yeah...I'm not a fan either."

Although he had to admit the genre was slowly growing on him. Among other things.


	8. Chapter 8

Vegas Blues: A Thing Called Love8

The sussuration of voices was increasing as patrons were filling the restaurant. The empty plates were cleared away, the scant remains of her chicken, his steak, their salads gone. The empty glasses taken as well. The waitress stood, smiling at John, hand at her hip as she set the check upon the table. The little white paper fluttered. The numbers in bold ink.

"I've got this." John was pulling out his wallet.

"No, I can pay half," Moira insisted, digging in her purse.

"No, I said I got this, Moira."

"I can pay my own way, John! I don't need your charity!"

"In that case you can pay my half as well, Moira!"

They eyed each other. Eyed the waitress who was waiting, staring at them as if she couldn't tell if they were joking or not. Wondering if either one of them was capable of paying the check. Finally John pulled out some bills, lifted them with the check to the waitress. "It's on me. Here. You can leave the tip, Moira."

"Fine." Moira did so, tossing a few dollars onto the table. She stood as John did. "Thanks."

"Don't sound too grateful about it," he commented sourly.

"I'm not. See ya, Sheppard." She headed out of the restaurant.

"Hey! Wait! Oh shit, keep the change!" he said, darting out of the line. But he darted back, snatching the dollars from the startled cashier. He strode after Moira, into the evening as she was heading down the street. "Wait up! O'Meara, what the fuck are you doing? Stop!" He grabbed her arm, spun her to face him.

"What's it look like? I've got to get back to work. I don't have a choice, remember? But once this research is done I'm through. You may need to pursue this because you believe it will facilitate the recovery of all of your memories but I don't need to pursue it! Oh sure, I have scientific curiosity about it all and yes, the discovery of a new life form, even an alien one would be astounding if not downright fascinating but I can ignore all of that and move on! And yes, the possibility of a living bacteria that can mutate at an astounding rate and infiltrate the immune systems of different species is terrifying but it's not my field of interest!"

He blinked. Pulled her close, closer. "Fuck you are hot when you start to go all sciency like that," he muttered. "Can you ignore it? Can you ignore me, Moira?" He smiled.

"I can try," she said tersely, stepping back from him.

He chuckled. A low, sexy sound in his throat that skimmed along her skin. And other places. "I see. Well, doctor, good luck with that one."

"Not lacking in self-confidence, are you, John?" she snapped.

"Nope. Let's go. I can give you a ride." He guided her to his car. The warmth of the evening led him to remove his jacket. To swing it over his shoulder as he walked after her. Hooking it with one finger as he watched the sway of her hips, her hair. The ponytail was messy, loose.

"I bet you can." He chuckled again. "Seriously, John, whatever it is you want from me you're not getting it."

"We'll see. Get in."

She sighed. Got into the car. Watched him walk round to the driver's side. Watched him slide into the seat. Close the door. But he didn't start the car. Just sat there. Tossed his jacket to the back seat. Rolled up his sleeves to reveal his forearms. She saw a braided white leather wristband but refrained from asking. His hands were on his thighs now as he stared ahead. The parking lot lights were dim yellow circles amid the darkness of the night. "Well? Are you going to drive me to the lab or not?"

"I was just thinking."

"Thinking? It would work better if you actually inserted the key into the ignition."

"Funny. No, I was thinking. About this. About all of this." He met her gaze. "About you."

She swallowed at the intensity in his gaze. But he looked ahead again. She waited, but he was silent. Staring now at the dashboard. Fingers drumming on the steering wheel as he took hold. He was impossibly handsome. Impossibly aggravating. She wondered what he could do with those long, rough fingers. He met her gaze. Guiltily she eyed the dashboard. "Well? Have you finished thinking so we can go now?"

"Have you?" He raised a brow at her, having noted her amorous interest. Speculation.

She moved to open the car door. "I don't have time for this! I have to get to work to–"

He caught her hand on the door handle, halting her exit. Leaning over to close the door. His body close to hers. His arm brushing against her breasts, a deliberate motion. His lips close to hers as she turned her head to protest, mouth open. But instead of words coming out John's tongue went in. A sudden, sloppy, sensual motion of his mouth on hers. Even as she grabbed his arm to push it off her breasts. His arm slid away but his hand returned. Sliding deftly up under her t-shirt. Fingers gliding along bare flesh. She made a small sound, reacting, but his mouth was entwined with hers again.

John deftly slid his hand up under the bra. Cupping a breast. He made a gruff, low sound as he grasped, fondling. Pressing his palm as the breast filled his hand. Gently squeezing, feeling the nipple harden as his kiss all but devoured her.

Moira shifted as a tiny, tiny whimper was trapped in her throat. She grabbed his arm, as the feel of his rough hand, rough fingers on her bare flesh was erotic, was enticing. She broke the kiss, tearing her mouth from his. "Don't,"she whispered.

He ran his mouth along her cheek to her ear. Kissed and sucked at her earlobe, gently tugging.

"Don't stop?" he teased into her ear, voice low, breath hot. He captured her mouth again with his. Shifting on the seat as he pressed closer, closer. Would have gotten on top of her if it was at all possible. Pants so tight now he thought the zipper would pop.

"Don't." Her hand slid to his chest where she pushed. Fingers inadvertently popping a button open. Fingers skimming into his chest hair. She pushed and his hand freed her breast. Slid out of her bra, her shirt. Rested on her thigh as he pulled back to meet her gaze. Saw the passion, the desire, the uncertainty and wanted it all.

"Why?" he asked gruffly. Her fingers were still playing with his chest hair and he wished she would let them slide down to his lap to play more forcefully. "Moira?"

"I..." Her words fell away. A mixture of regret, of sadness filling her brown eyes. Wanting nothing more than to surrender to him. To lose herself in him. To feel every inch of him, to taste and take and give. "It won't work, John. It never does." She ran a finger along his scruffy jaw. Along his full, perfect lips. A delicate touch that nevertheless made his body react, want, need.

He caught her hand. Kissed her fingers, startling her. Kissed her palm. Kissed the inside of her wrist and ran his mouth along the skin of her inner arm. He kissed her lips, gently this time. Ran his fingers through her hair, tugging it free of the ponytail. "Why not?" he asked into her ear again. "I want you, Moira."

"You want sex, John," she corrected softly, gently pushing him back again. "I just happen to be in the way."

"Huh?"

"Come on, Sheppard. I know how this works. Don't pretend otherwise. I don't want you like that. Okay, I do, but not now. Not like this." She extricated herself from him, from the car.

Suddenly she was standing outside of it and John was leaning into empty air. He wasn't quite sure how that had happened. "Moira? Damn it, get that pert little ass back into the car! Fine. I will take you to the lab and you can make love to your science, all right? Moira!"

"It's for the best, John. You just don't see it yet. Goodnight. I'll call you if there are any developments in the case. Goodnight." She moved away, crossing the street and hailing a cab. Trying to pretend it didn't matter. Trying to pretend that there was nothing more between them than raw attraction. Ignoring all the rest. Then she was gone, taken away by the night.

Taken away from temptation. Taken away from him.

John was stunned. Pissed. Frustrated. He sat staring stupidly after the cab, at a loss as to what to do, what to say. It wasn't exactly a rejection but it was something with which he had little familiarity. He hit the steering wheel, swearing. Started the car and peeled out of the parking lot, narrowly avoiding a collision with a car entering it.

He headed for the bright lights of Vegas. The neon flashes that turned the night into day. Luring him with every kind of temptation, every kind of distraction.

He knew exactly what he needed. What he wanted.

And by God he was going to get it. All of it.


	9. Chapter 9

Vegas Blues: A Thing Called Love9

The thought came to him suddenly. Out of the blue. Out of nowhere. Like some beneficent force had dropped the words into his head, into his mind and meaningless, random events now made sense. Serendipity they called it. When the subconscious mind finally worked it all out, unbeknownst to the conscious mind, and then plopped the solution to the forefront out of nowhere. He hadn't even been aware he had been thinking about it.

John didn't know what had sparked it. If it had been the gambling. The high stakes poker game where he lost but then barely broke even. Just. If it had been the drinking. Shot after shot after shot of whiskey and Scotch, then beer when the money began to run out. If it had been the sex. Messy, mindless fornication with a prostitute. A woman with brown hair whom he had made wear a white lab coat. Luckily it was one of the many costumes in her repertoire. He had even paid extra for it. Had vented his need, his frustrations on her, in her.

And then, as if giving in to all of his vices had suddenly unlocked his mind the thought came. The pieces of the puzzle falling into place. Not of the past. That was still locked in darkness, in blankness. Disjointed memories. But the present. The cases he was working although they had been closed by official channels. But he needed confirmation. He needed another opinion, an informed opinion. And he knew damn well where to get it.

He needed a damn scientist.

Moira rubbed her eyes. Stared at the laptop. The words blurred on the screen. She had forwarded her findings. Had left the lab after hours of work. Hours of analysis, re-testing, collating. Hours of finishing Carson's work and merging it with her own. Until the letters and numbers blurred and the sentences made no sense, were garbled gibberish to her tired mind. Hours of trying not to think of that detective. Distracting herself with science, with facts.

But now she was home. Sitting on the couch, weary but unable to sleep. Still clothed but she had kicked off her shoes. She yawned, closed the laptop. Touched her chest, her breast recalling John's hand. The feel of his grasp, his rough fingers. The sensations of his mouth on hers, lips on hers. The overwhelmingly male intensity and hunger.

A knock startled her. Made her drop her hand to her lap. Made her move to her feet. Wondering who could be calling at this late, late hour. She approached warily. Although it was a quiet neighborhood you could never be sure. Not anymore. She unchained the door. Turned on the outside light. Unlocked it and peered out as she slowly, slowly opened the door.

John knocked again. Knew she was at home. He hadn't even bothered to check the lab. He was about to shout when the door inched open. He pushed it open all the way, impatient.

"John?" Moira stared, aghast. He looked terrible. Hung over. Clothes askew. She stumbled out of the way as he lurched across the threshold. Uninvited. She closed the door, locked it. Switched off the outside light as he made his way to the couch. His steps unsteady, swaying. He collapsed onto the couch with a grunt. "John?" she repeated. Glanced outside to see his car parked in front of her house. Deplored the fact that he had driven in his condition.

John squinted at the bright lights of the room. He watched her turn to him. Move to stand across from him. The glass table was between them. She was messy. Long hair loose, cascading around her in subtle waves. Clothes rumpled. He was silent, looking at her. He ran a hand over his face. Shrugged. "Hey, Moira."

"John?" she said a third time. "What the hell have you been doing?" He stank of sweat, smoke, alcohol. There was a stain on his pants near the zipper that she wished she hadn't seen. She frowned. Placed her hands on her hips, looking down at his slouched form on her couch. "Well? Let me guess, shall I, detective? Gambling, drinking, and whoring, was it? What are you doing here? What do you want?"

"Can I have a drink?" he rasped.

She glared. But strode to the kitchen. Muttering to herself. "I don't know what you're playing at, John, but it ends now. You can't just come barging in here at what? Two in the morning! You can drink this cup of joe and then you will go or I will call the cops on you! John? John!" She returned, cup of hot coffee in her hand. She paused.

John was on his back, sprawled precariously on the couch. One leg stretched out, foot on the floor, the other propped up on the arm rest. One arm flung up over his eyes, the other folded across his waist. He was snoring. It was a loud, obnoxious sound.

"John!" She almost laughed. He was impervious to her voice, her tone, her command. She set the cup of coffee on the table. Neared. Nudged him. "John!"

He was out cold. Lost in heavy, heavy slumber. Snoring like a champion.

Moira shook her head. Touched his brow, tenderly brushed his bangs from a cut above his eye. She tossed a plaid throw over his long, lean form. Turned off the lights and headed for her bedroom. Sighing.

John snorted. Rolled and fell heavily onto the floor, banging his elbow onto the glass table. "Fuck! What the...oh." He hauled himself off the floor, back onto the couch. Remembering. Tossed the plaid throw aside as a clattering of plates drew his attention. "Huh?"

"Morning to you too, detective." Moira walked over to him, shaking her head. "You look like hell, John. Here." She held out a toothbrush. "Use this. Bathroom is down the hall. And no snooping."

He smiled. Gaze roving over her. Her hair was loosely tied back from her face. She was wearing more make-up than usual. Eyeliner, mascara, eyeshadow that matched the dove gray dress she was wearing. It flattered her form, her curves. Fell to just above her knees where dove gray stockings led to gray high heels. "Wow. You didn't have to dress up for me, baby."

"I didn't. I have to present my findings to the museum committee this morning to see if I can get an extension on my grant."

"I'd give you whatever you wanted, Moira."

"I wish you were on the committee then. Here."

He stood. Stepped round the table and took the proffered toothbrush. Raised a brow. "Do you always carry a spare?"

She smiled. "You never know. Down the hall, to the right. And no–"

"Snooping, got it. Is that coffee?"

"Yes. You can have a cup once you are more presentable."

"Ah. As ordered, ma'am." He sauntered down the hallway, scratching his head. He smiled hearing her soft laughter. Knew it was at his expense but he didn't care. He entered the bathroom. Emptied his bladder with a satisfied sigh. Washed his hands, his face. Loath to use her nice, clean lavender towels but having no choice. He brushed his teeth twice, grimacing at the awful taste in his mouth.

He stared at himself in the mirror. Snorted. He indeed look like hell. Hair sticking out in every direction. Eyes bloodshot. Weary. A growth of stubble on his face making him appear rakish, dangerous. He smiled at the thought. He tried to arrange his hair into some kind of order. Wishing he had a comb.

Unable to help himself he looked round the small bathroom. The shower, the small tub. Imagined her naked in it, wet. He opened the mirrored cabinet. Nothing but assorted over the counter drugs and other feminine things. He grabbed the bottle of aspirin, downed three and drank some water. Opened a drawer but there was nothing interesting there. He wondered where her bedroom was. Certain there were interesting things to be found in that room.

"John? John! I said no snooping!" she called.

He laughed softly. Exited the bathroom and made his way up the hallway. Peering into rooms with open doors. "It's in my nature, Moira. I am a detective. Sorry. Ah." The scent of hot coffee lured him to the kitchen. He sat at the table, grabbed the mug and sipped. "Just the way I like it."

"It will help sober you up, I hope," she rejoined, standing at the counter. Watching him as he closed his eyes, sipping the hot beverage. His hair was somewhat in order. He had tucked in his shirt, smoothed down his pants. Face and hands clean. "So what did you want?"

He opened his eyes, set down the cup. "I had a realization, Moira."

"Really? Between the gambling, the drinking, and the whoring?"

"Yeah, somewhere in there I had a realization. Wait, I wrote it down." He fished around in his pockets. Produced a piece of paper. Held it out for her. "I need your help on this."

She neared. Took it. Read it. Shock gave way to a scowl. "Is this some kind of a joke, John? Because it isn't very funny! Get out! Now!"

"What?" He took the note from her. Read it. He appeared puzzled. "I...um..."

"That's a brilliant deduction, detective! What, that took you all night! Somewhere between the gambling, the drinking and the whoring!" She grabbed his arm, hauled him to his feet. Dragged him across the room. "You son of a bitch! Why did I ever let my guard down? Why? Get out! Get out and never come back here, Sheppard! Go!"

John found himself shoved out of the house. He turned but the door was slammed in his face. "Sorry! I...what the fuck, Moira?" The paper fluttered to the ground and he retrieved it. Stared at it in complete incomprehension. Until the realization hit him like a punch to the gut.

_Middlegate Hills._


End file.
